


You Surrender To The Power

by missegareth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Gods, M/M, POV Second Person, Self Harm, Violence, abuse but not sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missegareth/pseuds/missegareth
Summary: from a tumblr post: an au where angels are the monsters you warn your kids before bed.a.k.a.: Thyren is Flerl'en Sylen's leytian, he goes with it, and the universe turns slowly into a living hell.





	1. Chapter 1

♫ -  The Great Shipwreck of Life - IAMX

 

Nobody exactly knows how _it_ started. 

You stand right next to a man who sits on his golden throne, however despite the a million torches and candles, nothing can lighten the room. You are used to it, it feels like it’s been a long time since all of these things existed.  

The man on the throne speaks with a silky voice, you are not sure of what he says, but it has to be a new order, the prophet below must be warned about some new things maybe - you don’t care. He’s not talking to you, after all, there’s another leytian stands across you.  

Other leytian disappears, and your god calls your name. As usual, you go next to him and kneel, placing your head on his lap. His fingers go through your hair, and you find yourself thinking about the past: You would find this disgusting once, you would fight the urge of shredding your own skin. Now, you close your eyes and listen to his voice, telling stories to you. What happened to him once, how he was left by the ones he loved the most. 

You are sure that he _knows_ that you don’t care, or you couldn’t have cared even if you wanted to, but he just speaks to you. You are silent, you have been like that for almost ten years now, but eventually he will ask you to speak, so you will. You will tell him about your day: How you walked on Lanenketer, how little kids looked at you both amazed and terrified, how an idiot tried to fight you and you broke his neck. 

His fingers make their way to the marks on your arms, most of them are burnt on your skin. They are probably telling stories of your ancestors, or they don’t mean anything at all and just his signature. Nobody bothered to tell you so far, so you just play along as long as nobody touches the ones near your wrists - the ones you created yourself.  

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asked you one day, in the middle of a burning procedure. You were silent, as usual and expected, but he apparently didn’t expect to see that.

“It does,” you replied, there was no point of lying.

“Are you disturbed?”

“I’m used to it.”

In fact, you are proud of it, proud of every scar you have. The ones on your back are much more horrifying, and only a limited number of creatures have seen it, so they don’t matter, but the ones they can see… They are the reason you _never_ wear anything with sleeves, you want to prove everyone that they can’t break you because you’ve already broken yourself. 

“Tell me about your day,” he says, so it is your turn to talk. Your attempt to raise your head, but he gently pushes you down, so you oblige. 

“A regular day on Lanenketer,” you sigh, your throat hurts a little - you feel like you haven’t talked for too long. “Kids are trying to copy us, adults are frightened, some idiots dare to stand up against us…”

“What do you to those who fight you?”

“Sometimes we take mercy on them-“

“Not all of the legion,” he interrupts. “I’m asking _you.”_

“I kill them,” you reply, it’s no big deal for you, that’s what you do, that’s why you were born and raised after all.

“Do you spill too much blood?”

For the thousandth time you say _yes,_ it’s ridiculous that he asks the same questions every night. Though in a few hours, it will be over, and you will go out _there_ \- maybe to a rooftop in Lanenketer, with a bottle of wine that you didn’t pay for. 

_(Nobody can ask you for money, anyway. You wouldn’t care if they asked you to pay, but they simply don’t, or can’t.)_

And you close your eyes, feeling the sympathy of your god. It’s all so tiring and boring for you, but you can’t complain: This was the life you were signed up for the moment they announced your entrance to the Legion. Not that Legion is something more than a scary name with a bunch of scary leytians, but in the old days where everything felt _less_ suffocating, it was an honour. 

“Do you still cut yourself?” He asks, and you nod, exhaustedly. The following question is _why_ you do that, but you haven’t got an answer for it. What can you say? Because you are addicted to pain? That it makes you feel alive? Or that they are your way to convince yourself that you are _not_ ready to die yet? You never knew the real reason, you only proceed doing it because it was a relief if nothing more.

“I like it,” you say, hesitantly. “The pain and the numbness it brings along.”

“So, you _like_ feeling pain?” And a wave of it goes through your spine, but you don’t even flinch. It will calm down in a few seconds - and you are so over it, so over reacting to _anything,_   at all. You would bath in your own blood if you could, you couldn’t have cared less. Instead, you sigh loudly and look at him with a given up look in your eyes, making him smile.

“Good boy,” he says as he ruffles your hair, and then you smile back. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

♫ -  Quiet The Mind - IAMX

 

When you feel exhausted, you go to Lanenketer. Your first stop is a shop under an abandoned building to get three bottles of wine, then you slowly climb the stairs of the building to the rooftop.  

Roof is windy, but you are used to it by now, so you go there and sit - there are no fences to protect anyone from falling. Placing two bottles on the ground, you open the first bottle and start drinking from it - not that it makes a difference. It tastes worse than anything you have ever drunk, but the taste is the last thing you mind. 

After a while, usually when you half your bottle, a tall blondie sits right next to you - but he doesn’t talk much. You don’t either. Almost the only communication you have is that when you give him an unopened bottle, and he presents you one cigarette. You open the bottle for him, he lights it up for you. And you bury yourselves into a misery filled silence, as the city continues to live with all the lights that can’t break its darkness.

You actually _like_ the guy. More than anyone in the pantheon, probably. There’s a purity in him that you can’t _explain,_ and it fills you with a peace you’d rather not admit. If you had the courage, you would ask him out - _a regular one,_ not just a meeting at a rooftop of a building that might collapse every second. 

Thing is, you think you don’t deserve him - and you actually don’t.  After all, you’re just a leytian that his father created, and used as his own canvas. The only time you feel slightly ashamed of your scars is that when you are with him, just the thought of him running his fingers through them makes you shiver, so you drown the feelings with more and more wine. 

The tobacco smells nice, but your only relation with it is that. Smoking it has never interested you, but you do it anyway. You try to look at him, secretly, but he’s already been looking at you, so you immediately turn your head away. A laughter is rare around here, especially from a god, and you feel lucky, _and blessed_ to hear his: It’s like a song to you, and _then_ you realise that you‘ve fallen too deep. 

“You don’t need to act like that you know,” he jokes, and you look at him again, with an excuse this time. The cigarette is between his two fingers, two badly bruised fingers that match with the rest of his hand - which is weird - and you accidentally focus on the smoke, as he comes a few inches closer. 

“Come on leytian,” he insists. “I know you can talk.”

“What do you want me to say?” You ask, rather aggressively. This makes him laugh again, and you _for some reason_ feel like you’ve won every award in the universe. 

“The reason that you come here, is a good start.”

“To collect my thoughts,” you shrug, just because you can’t admit that it’s another bullet point in the long list of things you don’t know. “It’s peaceful.”

“More than Leytianketer? Or being with your lover?”

“My lover?”

“Leytianl’en Frea?” He asks. “But I guess he is busy with all the people dying…”

“He’s not my _lover_ ,” you say, coldly this time - there was _no_ way that a man like Kyrean would accept you as his lover. You have a _thing_ yes, that consists a lot of pain and pleasure together, but lovers?

“Oh,” he apologises. “I always assumed… Nevermind.” 

You shook your head, because it’s wrong of him to apologise from you. You are not worthy of an apology from a god. You want to tell him that, but instead, you just ask him about his hand.

He slowly rolls his sleeves up, holding the cigarette between his lips this time - the lips that you want to kiss so badly. You wonder how he would feel if you said that to him, adding that he is the second person ever that you felt such a thing for. You can’t, and you don’t, you just watch him open his hands, to show you that all the bruises going through his arm. 

Gently, and carefully, you hold his right hand with your left, and your fingers go on the traces of the mixture of purple, dark red and blue. You raise your eyes to his, and then lower your head to kiss the bruises.

“Does it hurt?”

Instead of replying, he just doesn’t pull his hand away, encouraging you to proceed on placing small kisses on his roughly hurt skin.   

“Who did this to you?” You ask, there is no distance between you.

“Nobody,” he breathes, his eyes are on your lips. “Everyone.”

In the seconds he kisses you, you feel like the best version of yourself: Unbruised, untouched, hopeful, kind and worthy of something. You are none of them now, but who cares when you _both_ are hurt?

He seems like he doesn’t.

That alone gives you the power of surviving another long night. 

And _you_ don’t have to be alone this time.

 


	3. Chapter 3

You _make love_ with Haylen, and for the first time in your life, you really comprehend _the real meaning_ of the word. Frankly, it always seemed a little impossible to you, because you didn't think that the emotions involved could make such a difference - and it’s not like you and Kyrean _hate_ each other. 

The motions are the same, but the way that leads to them couldn't have been more different. Comparing them might sound unfair, though it helps realise you love them separately, and almost equally. 

With Kyrean, you both usually focus on the _pain_ more than pleasure. You give your control to him without a doubt, the worst he can do is killing you after all, and he seems enjoying it. The ravenous look in his face, as he cuts your skin with the sharpest knife he has, is delightful to watch, and you feel the pain numbs you with every passing second. 

The scene you like the most is watching your blood stain the white sheets beneath you, so he gives you that: Every cut is deeper than the other, and with every cut he seems more peaceful. Mostly after the third, you stop feeling any more of it, it's just the constant buzzing in the back of your head, and after the tenth you pull him to yourself. 

He lets you do that, it's your routine and he knows it. The times you kissed him are numbered, and you both avoid doing it, because it makes no sense at all. 

The rhythm is more important than anything, and it's the only thing that matters. With every thrust, the only sounds you make are the moans of pleasure instead of pain this time - he's no different from you. He digs his nails into your skin, you flinch a little bit but it's not disturbing, it's only a new item in your collection of scars. 

When it's done, it's done. After a small break to catch your breaths, you go to your own separate ways. If he really likes it, he makes sure that adding another cut with a smile, and you smile back. Sometimes you wish each other good night, or a good day, and that's all.

However, with Haylen, it’s all different - but the same. The motion is the same, the outcome is _mainly_ the same, however the foreplay is definitely less painful - and somehow, you enjoy it even more. 

At first, you don’t want to take your shirt off, because you _still_ think that he will not want you like that, damaged and marked permanently. He sees your reluctancy, and reminds that you can walk away if you don’t want to, it’s not an obligation after all, and for the first time in your life, you say those words: 

“I don’t want you to see my scars.”

“Why?”

But you don’t answer. With a deep breath, you take it off and turn your back to him: Lines over lines, cuts over cuts, burnt patterns on them all… You hear him holding his breath, but you’re too scared to look at him, and see the possible disgust in his eyes, because it probably would ruin the peace you have with yourself. 

You feel his finger on one of them, going through it from the beginning to the end. A shiver has taken over you - it’s everything you’ve dreamt of, and more. He’s so affectionate and gentle that you want to cry, but he doesn’t notice that as he whispers:

“Such cruelty…”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“ _Nobody_ can deserve such a thing.” He kisses your shoulder, and continues looking at you.

 _‘Yeah,’_ you want to say. _‘Tell that to the souls down below.’_

But you keep your silence.

“Did my father do all these?”

“The burn scars?”

“Message received.”

You come to realise that you are actually no better than each other, when it comes to the scars and marks. Other than that, of course he is better than you - at least he’s _less_ broken than you - or that’s what you think. You slowly turn to him and actually have a chance to see all of his bruises. They aren’t covering him completely, but it hurts you a little to see him like that.  

“They don’t hurt, _not anymore_ ,” he murmurs, as if he knows what you are thinking. “I am used to it.”

“Their existence?” You ask, trying to be casual but your voice cracks. “Or the pain they cause?”

“Their existence,” he replies, eyes on the floor. “I-I don’t like discussing them-“

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “We won’t if you don’t want.” 

And you don’t. 

Not that night, not in the other nights, and not during the mornings you wake up next to each other.

 


	4. Chapter 4

♫ - Our Demons (filous Remix) - Glitch Mob ft. Aja Volkman

 

People are getting anxious whenever they see you - or any other legionnaire. You normally wouldn’t care, but they’re becoming also stupidly brave, so you _have to_ care because they attack you with all the weapons they have.

Here’s how it started: You still do your regular meetings with Haylen in that roof, so you go to the shop for the wines, and the close the doors on you. You warn them, with words, and leave the bottles on the counter as you take a few steps back with your hands raised. You don’t want to spill any blood, not tonight, not before you kiss your lover for the first time that day, but they take it as you’re scared - which is a wrong assumption to make.

“Seriously?” You ask, because what more can you say? One of them comes from the behind and stabs you with a knife, _a knife,_ and you make an angry noise involuntarily, taking the knife out of your skin. It’s red with your blood, but you just throw it away and draw your sword like it’s nothing. And it begins.

Not that you don’t like killing them, _teaching them a lesson._ You’re a leytian, _Second Commander of Legyrenl’en Goilleren_ in fact, you have no reason to be afraid of them. They don’t get it. They don’t.

You just wanted to stay away from it, because you think it wouldn’t be nice to going to Haylen as your clothes are soaked in human blood.

Still, you slit all of their throats, and shrug your head, get the wines and leave two gold coins - for the first time - then you climb the old stairs of the building. Slowly, and you feel the blood drying on your skin, the wound they opened is probably closed by now.

Honestly, you just want to go to bed, and close your eyes… Sleeping is never an option for you, haunted by the nightmares of dungeons and chains, however there’s this weird feeling in your throat, coming from your lungs. It shortens your breaths, something you’ve never encountered before - or encountered so long ago that you don’t remember.  

“Took you long enough soldier,” Haylen’s voice makes you smile, and feel relaxed, but you don’t look at his eyes. “I was wondering if there were _too_ many people to divinely punish.”

“They started it,” you mumble guiltily. “I warned them. I didn’t want to do it, this time.” 

The part you don’t tell is that you didn’t want to do it because of _him,_ not because you’re good of a person. You never were. It was how you built, not that it would matter, but it was the truth: You were made to be a weapon, sharpened and forged with blood and pain. That was all you were meant to be, and that is all you are.

“Would it make me gross if I liked that look on you?”

You laugh. “You mean grosser than I already am?”

“ _Gross_ wouldn’t be the word I use for you. _Ruthless_ , maybe. _Cruel_ , possibly. _Handsome_ , unquestionably. _Hot enough to keep in my bed all day,_ most definitely.”

“Now you’re just trying to cheer me up,” however, there’s this stupid smile on your face that already admits he made it. “I love you so much, you know…”

“I can tell.”

“How?”

He shrugs. “I’m the universe, right? I know everything. _Every little dirty secret._ ”

You can’t help raising your eyebrows, and he chuckles. “Okay, I guessed. Are you happy?”

“Always, whenever I’m with you.”

“Oh, soldier," he sighs. "Don’t make me fall deeper.”

“Sorry,” you say with a grin. “Can’t help it.”

 _That_ feels normal. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

♫ -  Waking Up - Explosions In The Sky

 

Funny thing about dating your god’s precious son is that it can make him either happy or angry. An angry Sylen is something you _never_ would want to see, so you are in between praying and letting it go when you walk to him. 

He is again on his throne, but there’s this unnamed weird feeling in the air. He has an exhausted smile on his lips, and when you bow respectfully in front of him, he just orders you to stand up. You do, and look at him.

“So, you and Haylen,” he starts, and it’s the worst nightmare you can ever have - he is _definitely_ going to kill you, which is _the opposite_ of a problem, but he’s also going to make you suffer for the rest of the eternity, and death is supposed to be peaceful after everything you’ve been through on Leytianketer. 

So you stand there, without saying anything, as if you are petrified, and keep looking at him without a blink. 

“I hope you’re taking good care of him.”

 _That’s_ the thing you don’t expect. Unsure of the necessity of an answer, you stand still as a statue, as you mostly do when you’re before him, and he laughs.

“He was talking very fondly about you, so enthusiastically… I’m happy that it’s you, actually. Someone I can trust. Come here, Thyren.”

You follow his order, and go next to him, kneeling before him. He asks to see your scars, and you open your arms to him. 

“I am guessing you’ve noticed _his_ scars,” he murmurs, as he runs his finger along your scars. It’s such a weird routine of yours, you wait until he’s done. It makes you realise that the only time you speak is that either roaring orders to _lanennen,_ or when you’re with Haylen. He somehow can break you free, and it actually makes you… _Happy? Relaxed? Feel normal?_ What is normal, on the other hand, being quiet has been your _normal_ since you were a kid. 

“Do you know what caused his bruises?”

“No, sire.”

“It’s me,” _now_ he sounds like he’s about to cry, and you want to raise your head and look at him - but you can’t do it. You can’t just witness his moment of vulnerability, it’s a shame according to _something_ you don’t know when you learnt. “It’s my fault… Everything beneath me is dying, and I’m also killing my son… How _poetic_ is that…”

Something inside of you grunts, and you don’t hear what Sylen is saying beyond that point. _‘I am killing my son…_ ’ You wonder if he’s serious, you _pray_ for him not to be serious, because if he is, and if Haylen is _dying,_ it means that- 

_You can’t lose another person because of him. Your mother was enough. The list should end there._

“Is he-“ Unable to finish the sentence, you clench your jaw, breathe, and try again. “Is he really _dying_?”

“Oh yes,” he replies absent-mindedly, still tracing the parallel lines on your arms. “And it’s my fault… _Like everything else._ Like everything wrong. I should’ve let my brother kill me thousands of years ago.”

This time you look at him, horrified, because _you don’t want Haylen to die,_ and you can try to kill Sylen to prevent it. You can try anything.  

“Can’t we do something about it?” You ask, hesitantly. 

“What would you suggest?”

“I don’t know. _Just something._ ” Now you’re almost pleading, which is pathetic. _“I can’t watch him going to his death by every second._ ”

“Oh dear,” Sylen laughed halfheartedly. “You really _love_ him… A damn leytian, and a god again…”

You have no idea what the fuck he is talking about, but he’s the only one who can help you, _help him,_ so you listen. 

“Don’t worry, leytian,” he says. “I care about him more than anything in the universe.”

And you believe him. What more choice do you have? Of course you believe him, and close your eyes, and he whispers assuring words to you, and you believe him, your heart pounds like a hammer inside your ribcage, and you whisper back. Begging him to save the one person you actually care about. 

 _‘Save him,’_ you say over and over again. _‘Take my life instead, but save him._ ’

You don’t see the pitying look on Sylen’s face, or his watery eyes as he pats your head. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

♫ -  Shadows - Woodkid

 

He makes you promise to stay with Haylen. Follow him like a shadow, if you want, or to actually _be_ with him. You give the promise, but don’t question the motive behind it - something inside you tells you to do it, but you’re either too scared or careless to ask anything to Sylen. 

Taking the stairs seems easier, you need some time to collect your head anyway. You see some other leytians who look at you, with a hate in their eyes - or envy, you aren’t good at differentiating that two. Somewhere up the skies, the sun is about to come up, and you stop there, under the orange sky. A deep, involuntary sigh escapes from you.

_What am I supposed to do?_

And you head towards Haylen’s palace.

*

 

If you know one thing about Haylen for sure, it’s that the fact that he looks so beautiful while he’s sleeping. One arm below a pillow, the other is on it, his body is half covered with the silk sheets you’ve spent nights on together, and even his bruises look like the evening sky.

You go next to him, quietly, because you’re sure that he’ll notice you. He always does. He always opens his oceanic eyes, and looks at you, and smiles. His smile is like a thousand suns up there, warming you up. 

 _And_ he really wakes up, and you lose your breath for a second, as usual. 

“You’re early,” he comments, sleepily. “Don’t you wanna come in?”

You pretend like you’re thinking about it. “I have a better idea,” the words follow a sly smile. “Do you want to go to Lanenketer?”

“I don’t think it’s _that_ late, darling.”

“No, it’s not,” you say, nodding. “That’s the catch: We’ll have a regular, lanen day on Lanenketer. You, me, no missions, no darkness. I’ve heard about this beach, with the sun and places to walk by. What do you say?”

“My answer will depend on if my father ordered you to do that.”

“Do what, exactly? Well, he _ordered_ me to stay with you all day, he didn’t specify how.”

“Hmm…”

“Oh come on!” You laugh, _how many times have you laughed in your life Thyren Hyiressen? Before Haylen, how many times? One, or two maybe?_ “We’ll just have fun!”

“Something tells me nothing good can follow this.” He murmurs. “And I’m not sure if I would feel comfortable walking amongst lanennen while almost every part of my body - except for my face - looks like-“

“The evening sky…” 

“I would say _damaged_.”

“ _Just look at me,_ Haylen…” You open your arms, as wide as you can, and tilt your head a bit. “We’re just two people that the life was a little bit tougher. Who cares? There are kinds on Lanenketer that need to suck blood to live.”

“You may have a point on that…”

“Besides, you _own_ there. Who cares about how you look?”

He looks at you, and smiles.

“Alright,” he says. “But you’re lucky that you’re _so_ cute when you’re this passionate, Thyren.”

“I’m always cute,” you reply, though the words feel like they belong to someone else’s life.

_Who gives a shit?_

_You certainly don’t._

 *

 

People look at you. You don’t care. They try to get away from your sight, and you still don’t care. Whom you care is Haylen, and you are good at making him laugh, so that’s the only thing that matters. 

Lanenketer during daytime looks a lot fun. You wrap your arm around his waist, pull him and kiss him, and he kisses you back.

There’s nothing else on the universe.

No one else.

It’s just you two, all alone, against everyone.

_(Not that there’s anyone against you.)_

_(Because, who would be against you?)_

_(You two are the most irrelevant, and most beautiful thing ever walked on Lanenketer.)_

_(At least, he is.)_

You eat ice cream, and buy ribbons from a girl who sells ribbons. 

“Is this your first time in Hysseren?” she asks. Haylen nods, and she laughs. “Lucky for you, then, you’re just in time for the solstice celebrations.”

_Summer solstice._

Neither of you have thought about that.

This time he kisses you, as he ties the white ribbon around one of the buttons on your vest. 

 _“Thank you,”_ he whispers.

“For what?”

“For today.” 

And that second, you are certain that you are the happiest person on that planet.

 


	7. Chapter 7

♫ -  You Could Be Happy - Snow Patrol

 

_Lesson one: Nothing good lasts forever._

_Lesson two: Everything good comes with a price._

_Lesson three: This wasn’t the life you were supposed to live._

And you stand in the middle of the throne room, in the night of a day that you were happy, _so happy._ There’s blood covering the marble floors, and you somehow can’t make yourself go near the throne, the dead man’s dead eyes feel like they can see through you. The frozen smile on the dead lips horrifies you, and you can’t move. _You_ _just can’t move._

_What are you supposed to do now?_

Taking a few steps back, you stare at your former master, _your former god,_ and you can’t even blink. It’s as if someone take your agency away, it’s the need to be told what to do. Nobody tells anything, because probably nobody knows - and you should alert the people, but… 

_However…_

“It’s okay,” a whisper you hear. _Kyrean?_ “Frea knew it all along.”

“Frea?” You ask, everything feels so unfamiliar.

 _“Flerl’en Frea,”_ he replies. “The God of Death? Are you okay?”

“I don’t think so…” You turn your head away, and look at him. “Everything’s turning…”

Reflexively, he catches you. You actually don’t remember anything after that. 

*

 

_“Took you long enough, soldier.”_

The room is warm. Sheets covering you are soft. Birds are chirping. Haylen seems lovely. And you aren’t able to think, let alone to speak. 

“You scared me.”

“What happened?” You ask.

“A lot of things,” he sigh. “But know that it will be all right…”

“Your father-“

“Ssh, don’t think about that,” he kisses you. “We will have plenty of time to talk about it, you need to rest. And I need it, too.”

You close your eyes again, trying to remember that horrifying scene. _Nothing_ comes, as if it was just a nightmare, and now it’s over.

You’re with Haylen. And everything’s all right.

_When was the last time you were ever able to sleep, Thyren Hyiressen?_

“I can’t remember it,” you whisper.

“You think there’s something to remember?”

“I saw it…” Though you sound unsure. “I was there-“

“No, you weren’t, nobody was…”

“How-“

“He was there… And now he’s gone. Like a lightning.”

He kisses your hand, gently.

 _“Go to sleep…”_ It feels more like an order, but also, it’s like it’s the right thing. 

Your eyelids feel heavier, and sleep wraps its warm arms around you.

You can’t think anymore.

Still, it feels like it’s all right.

_It's alright._

 


End file.
